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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748300">of bribes and strays</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekszova/pseuds/alekszova'>alekszova</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, One Shot, the dpd is now a paper company i'm sorry i don't make the rules.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:55:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,733</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748300</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekszova/pseuds/alekszova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin takes care of a stray cat by his workplace.<br/>Connor also seems to be taking care of a stray cat at his workplace.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Connor/Gavin Reed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>of bribes and strays</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibbers/gifts">Chibbers</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s going to rain today. Gavin knows it. He doesn’t normally check the weather on his phone—he prefers to go through his life without having to constantly check an app to see if there will be wind or thunder storms. It takes up too much of his time. When he was younger, temperature didn’t even matter. He would race outside in the mornings for school without a jacket, only to regret it on the long trudge home hours later when school was let out and snow had started to fall during second period. He could run around in the backyard with Elijah when they were meant to be helping their mother with the gardening but instead found sticks to act as swords in their duel for King and the ninety degree weather didn’t bother him at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The older he got, the more weather started to piss him off. He could do without a proper coat for a while—he always wore his jacket everywhere anyway—but summer turned into a worse and worse hell each year he got older. Maybe it’s global warming or just his inability to have fun and focus on laughing and sticking his brother in the ribs with a twig instead of putting one foot in front of the other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But today it’s going to rain, and he knows that from the moment he wakes up. Gavin wonders, briefly, as he gets dressed, if he’s going to end up an old man like Hank or Fowler and say that his bones ache when it gets rainy or cold. But he looks out the window at the gray sky and he just knows it’s chilly outside and that there will be a storm later tonight, that if he acted properly he would bring an umbrella with him, but rain is one of the few things he doesn’t mind now that he’s older. He likes the feeling of storms soaking his clothes and water in his shoes. There is something nostalgic in it, even if the next morning he has to put on damp sneakers and have his clothes hanging on the shower rod to dry off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then he thinks of the black cat in the alley by his work. Hiding perpetually behind the dumpster, never coming out far enough to say hello. A scrawny little thing made of just bones and fur that sticks up in a hundred different directions, clumping together from the lack of baths.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Gavin thinks—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. It’s going to rain today.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gavin! I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Connor says, adjusting the umbrella against his shoulder as he walks toward him. “What are you doing here? We have a meeting in five minutes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Smoke break.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor narrows his eyes, looking away from him to the cigarette butts littering the asphalt, “You should clean up after yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s decomposable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t think that’s the word Gavin meant, but he ignores it,  “There’s a dumpster two feet away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s two feet I don’t want to walk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor steps forward, his feet heavier than he means to. Somewhere between a walk and a stomp. Gavin has been getting on his last nerves lately. Slow on his paperwork and sitting too close to Connor, coffee and cigarettes cloaked by cologne. A mix of scents that sometimes makes Connor’s stomach turn in nausea and sometimes in something else entirely. Something he can’t name, but has decided to call </span>
  <em>
    <span>irritation </span>
  </em>
  <span>solely because he doesn’t want to call it anything else because if he calls it the thing that he knows that it is, he is going to have to face the last three years he’s spent with Gavin as his coworker in a different light and he isn’t quite ready for that yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going to get soaked staying out here in the rain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So? We answer phones all day. Nobody is going to see me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could get sick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, and you don’t want me to get sick?” Gavin says, his lips quirking up into a smile as he takes another drag of his cigarette.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to do all your extra work when you’re not here. It’s annoying.” And it’s boring, too. Gavin not being here makes the office feel too quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though at least Connor wouldn’t have to deal with Gavin tapping on his desk every five minutes to play Uno together, a game they keep perpetually minimized when Fowler is in from the city to check over the branch’s operations. Hank couldn’t care otherwise. Not really. He doesn’t care about anything these days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, shit, and here I thought you were concerned about my health,” he says, standing up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And if I was?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, that’s a sign you’re falling in love with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unlikely. And I’m not. Worried about your health, I mean. Or falling in love with you,” Connor says, looking around the alley again. “Do you really come here on your breaks every day?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Why? You judging me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just… everyone else goes up to the rooftop. Or the back parking lot. You come all the way over here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t like people, Connor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So stop judging me, yeah?” Gavin says, flicking the cigarette to the ground, crushing it with the hell of his boot. “Come on. We have a meeting to get to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” he says quietly, stepping out back to the street.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor clutches the handle of his umbrella, walking ahead fast to leave Gavin behind him. He thought about sharing his umbrella with him. Save him the trouble of hiding underneath the hood of his jacket, but when Gavin stood up there was this moment, this feeling in his stomach of standing too close to him. Coffee and cigarettes and cologne and his stomach turned with that thing he calls irritation that he knows isn’t, and he had to run.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin’s late to work, but nobody questions him as he comes in, sitting at the desk opposite of Connor’s. He boots up the computer, hunching over his desk with heavy eyes. He didn’t have time to stop at the coffee shop this morning and he had even less time to worry about the hassle of his machine at home. He overslept. Stayed up too late wondering if the cat was okay while a storm raged on outside his window. He used his smoke break (his lunch break, really, but he doesn’t tend to eat anything, more-so snacks throughout the day because the twenty trips to the vending machine is preferable to actually working) to take shelter to the dumpster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Six years ago, when he had a cat, he had a little carrier for her. Lined with blankets and a compartment for treats for her visits to the vet. He had to get rid of her, passed her off to his brother when the landlord found out he was keeping a cat in his apartment. Gavin had thought about moving, but it was too much of a hassle, and he had a good place for a good price. He misses her a lot. Makes an effort to visit his brother once a week just to see her and to interrogate Elijah about his current romantic fixation, of which there were many. It’s fine. It’s easier this way. But sometimes he lays awake at night wondering if he’s a good person because wouldn’t a good person just have moved out and got a new apartment? Wouldn’t they have passed on adopting the stray to begin with because of the rules?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Who the fuck is he kidding? He never thought he was a good person to begin with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And anyway--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her things left behind in his apartment became useful again. Gavin took the case to work, hiding it in his trunk before taking it out on his break, wedging it behind the dumpster with a plastic bag taped over it to shield it from any rain. He left the door in the living room of his apartment. A metal grid that’s still sitting on his coffee table like a taunt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, Gavin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s with you today?” Connor asks, reaching a hand out to rest against Gavin’s forehead. The feeling of his fingers resting gently against his skin makes him shiver, his skin feeling tingly and strange. “Are you sick? You look like a corpse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you. It’s a new thing I’m trying out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh? Like a look? The zombie aesthetic?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It suits you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, whatever,” Gavin pulls his hood over his face, grateful that the rule for business attire is never enforced because his boss likes his own ugly patterned shirts too much. “You could get it too, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Just go to a club and pick up a guy for a night and you won’t get any sleep. Sure the second you let someone in they won’t want to sleep or leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Workplace sexual harassment,” Connor mutters, taking his seat. “I’m going to report you to HR.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, please, Chris is my best friend. I know my way around the system.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not funny, Gavin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You joked about it first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels a kick underneath the desk, but it misses him. “Stop it. Get to work. Slacker.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jerk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches Connor smile. This tiny thing. It’s gone in an instant. So fast Gavin thinks he might’ve imagined it before Connor looks up to meet his gaze, “I’m glad you’re not sick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because you’d have to do my work?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Exactly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin is sick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s such a goddamn idiot. Thinking if he was fine the next day he wouldn’t have caught a cold from the rain. But he wakes up and his nose is stuffed and his throat is sore and he feels like his eyes are on the verge of crying no matter how many times he wipes away the tears. He can’t go to work. He looks worse than he did yesterday, and that’s a feat he didn’t think was possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he makes two calls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One to work to call in and a second one to Connor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gavin? How did you get my number?” Connor asks. “And why are you calling so early?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I asked my brother for it. I need your help with something. With somebody, really. I need you to check up on them, see if they’re okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Okay. Who?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Across the street, in the alley I was smoking at a day or so ago? There’s a cat that hangs around there. Tiny thing. Little runt. All black. Never bathes so her fur is all icky.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just want to know if she’s still around. There was a storm two days ago and I couldn’t make it outside to check yesterday because fucking Hank has me making spreadsheets all day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Those spreadsheets were due three days ago. It’s not Hank’s fault you put them off until past your deadline.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Connor,” Gavin says, biting back his anger at the last second. “Can you just check on the cat and call me back later?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Sure,” he replies. “Gavin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you mean when you said you got my number from your brother?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He works in tech. He has a list of all the emails and phone numbers of the employees.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Is he the one with the…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The stupid hair? Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor laughs, “Okay. I know him. He’s nice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice to </span>
  <em>
    <span>you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>maybe. Look. I don’t want to talk about my brother. It’s making me nauseous.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want me to change the subject or do you want me to hang up? I’m not exactly supposed to take personal calls at work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuckin’ let loose. You act like a robot. You can take a personal call. Or a professional one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How is this professional?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll pay you three bucks to check on the cat. Professional, see?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, really? So is my new job ‘Cat Checker’?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Needs a better name, but sure, why not? Maybe you could be the ‘Stray Savior’.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay” Connor laughs and that laugh is very nice and Gavin can’t tell if it’s nice because he’s loopy on meds or if it’s just a good laugh. He’s never heard Connor laugh like that before. He failed a hundred times in the last three years to crack him. “I expect my three dollars tomorrow, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll pay you. I need… I think I need to go back to sleep. The medicine is kicking in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. Good night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever,” he mumbles. “Thank you, Connor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No problem.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor texts Gavin two hours later after checking in on the cat, watching her little face poke out from around the dumpster to spy on him before ducking away. He didn’t call back. He didn’t know if he should. He didn’t want to wake Gavin, for the most part. It’s clear that he needs his sleep. It’s always clear to Connor that Gavin needs his sleep. He always looks so worn out, and there’s always so little Connor can do to help with that. And even if he tried, he doubts Gavin would accept the help anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or, if there was something in it for Gavin?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, can’t get enough of me in the office?” Gavin asks, looking up. “Following me out to the alley again? Stalker? Lover?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop,” Connor says, taking a seat next to him on the forgotten steps into the shop behind them. Closed down for a long time now. Through the window on the door there’s a stack of boxes barricading them out. “I brought you something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor sits down beside him, passing a plastic box to him, “Lunch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You brought me lunch?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. You can’t live off of chips and soda,” Connor says. “And it’s free, so just do me a favor and eat it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Gavin eyes him warily. “You didn’t poison me, did you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he replies. “Just trying to be nice. How are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m better now. You don’t have to worry about me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not worried. If you were immunocompromised, maybe I’d be worried. But you aren’t, so a little cold won’t kill you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wish, though, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor smiles lightly, “You can’t make up your mind, can you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I hate you or if I love you. I come out here because I’m so obsessively attracted to you but two seconds later, you think I wish you were dead?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Maybe you’re a yandere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what that is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you don’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor bumps Gavin’s shoulder with his own, “I mostly came out to check on the stray.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh? Got you invested, didn’t I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. What’s her name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She doesn’t have one yet. I didn’t want to get that attached to a cat I can’t keep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor looks down at Gavin’s hand as he breaks a piece of his cracker in half, tossing it toward the dumpster. “What are you doing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Feeding it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cheez-Its?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Why not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t feed a cat Cheez-Its.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin looks away from him, watching the cat slink out from her hiding spot, sniffing at the cracker before picking it up and disappearing behind the dumpster again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She likes them. Some day I’ll give her enough and she’ll actually come up to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trust in the Cheez-It King.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Gavin says, looking back at him with a smile. “She’s fine, Connor. You can go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know. I thought I’d stay a little longer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s different. Spending all day sitting with Connor at their desks, taking calls, wasting time playing games on the computer together that Connor always wins despite how little effort he seems to put into playing them. It’s different. It’s a quiet camaraderie of coworkers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But out in the alley it’s something else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next day Connor comes back with cat treats and another sandwich, a little plastic container of apples and a bottle of water. A hefty glass one with a black cap and a rubber case.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re ruining my vibes, Con.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re extremely unhealthy vibes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just like… you know. Not caring.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then don’t care,” Connor says. “Eat your apples and let me care for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s been a month of this. Despite Connor packing a second lunch for Gavin, the chip and candy bar wrappers in his wastebasket hardly dwindle, but they walk back to the office side by side now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a time when he thinks Gavin goes to hold his hand, when they brush up close together and for a moment he feels fingers against his palm before they disappear again and Gavin takes five steps forward, racing up ahead back to the building and Connor has to put his own hands in his pockets, pressing them flat in an effort to ignore how badly he wanted them to curve around Gavin’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you ever get tired of this?” Gavin asks, tearing the crust off the edge of his sandwich. “Feeding me? Taking care of me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m thinking of it like being an investor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,”  Connor says. “I’m worried about your health and I thought if I was going to be forced down the Stray Savior route, you could be my second stray.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think I’m a stray?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not exactly but… yes. You’re a bit of a runt too, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuckin’ calling me short?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor smirks, his attention on the orange in his hand he’s peeling, dropping each piece of it into his little paper bag at his feet. “You smoke almost a pack a day. You’re constantly taking breaks to the snack machine. You don’t bring in proper food for lunch and you exist off of Mountain Dew and overly sweetened coffee.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that’s a problem?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Connor says, looking away from him to the sky. “I think if you died, your replacement would probably be more insufferable than you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stick with the demon you know, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re investing in me. How so?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I make your meals.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think that’s enough?” Gavin asks. “You’re bribing me to stay healthy but all you do is make one of my meals.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is my food good enough to be considered a bribe?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was thinking hanging out with you was more so the bribe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y-You…” Connor trials off. “You want to hang out with me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. But I’m getting a little too used to having a friend so you gotta up the ante or I’m gonna go home and smoke fifty packs before I go to sleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor smiles softly, breaking off a piece of his orange and handing it to Gavin. He takes it immediately, disregarding the sandwich entirely for the fruit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what can I do? How do I up the ante?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kiss me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“W-What?” Connor asks, looking back to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kiss me. I won’t light up a cigarette today if you do. And if I decide you aren’t a good enough kisser, maybe I’ll come up with something else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you want me to kiss you now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I figure I gotta do it at least once.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor bites his lip, looking down at his hands in his lap, “I thought you were just going to have me make your dinner for you or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do that, too. I’d like that. You have a mini garden, don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. And tomatoes are in season.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. Bring me a tomato.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a singular tomato?” Connor asks, laughing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. And a kiss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor looks back to him, the smile on his face fading slowly, “Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because it sounds like a good bribe and I haven’t been kissed in a while.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No other reason?” Connor asks. “You just… want to use me because you haven’t been kissed in a while?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t had someone hold my hand or take me on a date in a while, either, but I figure we see how the kiss goes first, because if you’re bad at it, that’s kind of the end of the line for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, you like to kiss a lot then, hm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Gavin says quietly. “Especially people that I’ve been sitting across from for three years.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Connor replies. “But I want you to know that was a very childish way of asking me out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re the one who started with the bribing business to begin with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I know. But if you want a date, you have to prove yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because you’re worried about my health.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. And you know what that means when someone’s worried about your health, don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do,” Gavin says, moving closer to him. “And I knew it. You’re falling in love with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you going to kiss me or not, Gavin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles softly, moving a little closer. It’s strange being so close to Connor’s space. He spent the last three years going out of his way to get a little too close to Connor in the hopes that maybe Connor would look at him and see the limited space between them and think of a possibility where they don’t always see each other inside of the shitty office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Gavin still hesitates even when he’s this close to Connor. One more movement forward and he’d be kissing him. He’d put an end to all those times when he watched Connor across their desks and thought—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Connor closes the gap before he can. A simple movement forward, catching Gavin’s lips with his. The kiss doesn’t last long. Longer than he was expecting, considering he still thought Connor was just playing along with him, but so much shorter than he would’ve liked. Connor breaks the kiss quickly, lingering far too close to Gavin. So close—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So close he could just take him again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So?” Connor asks quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think… maybe you should…” he trails off. His brain is fuzzy. Thoughts wrong and disordered. He doesn’t remember what he was saying anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go on a date with you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Gavin breathes. “Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I can take the cat, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“On the date?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Connor laughs. “I can take her home with me. She doesn’t have to be a stray if she doesn’t want to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin leans back from him, looking up to see Connor’s expression. The way his gaze lingers on Gavin’s face. The way he’s watching him with the faintest trace of a smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t have to be a stray if she doesn’t want to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neither does Gavin.</span>
</p>
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